


Hannibal Ficlets

by piginapoketuesday



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other, The Description is an Index, Tumblr, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-15 18:53:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5795941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piginapoketuesday/pseuds/piginapoketuesday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>CH. 1: Drowning (Hannigram) (TW: blood, attempted suicide) -Hannibal comes home to find Will in a dangerous situation.</p><p>CH. 2: To Your Tastes (Hannigram) (Bondage, D/s, TW: blood) -Hannibal buys Will a suit and challenges Will to make him moan.</p><p>CH. 3: Which, As They Kiss, Consume (Hannigram) (Kissing) -Will buys a leather jacket in Florence and Hannibal can't get enough of the leather mixed with Will's scent.</p><p>CH. 4: Blushed (Hannigram) (Jealous!Will, Possessive!Hannibal, mentions of Bedelia/Hannibal, intimacy) -Hannibal wants to run Will a bath.</p><p>CH. 5: All at Once (Hannigram) (PTSD implied) -Hannibal brings up all the loved ones of Will's that he's hurt/killed, and Will has a hard time.</p><p>CH. 6: God, the Devil, and The Great Red Dragon (Hannigram) (TW: Blood, Hurt/Comfort, ultimatums) -The Great Red Dragon wants Will to choose who to save: Hannibal or Jack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Drowning

It was quiet in the house when Hannibal returned from the store, a bottle of red in his hand. There were no dogs barking, padding about, or even breathing. The kitchen didn’t smell like food of any kind, which meant that even at half past nine, Will still hadn’t eaten dinner.

Hannibal walked down the hall to their bedroom and peaked in the door, expecting to see his love curled up in the sheets, but the streak of moonlight from the window fell on empty pillows and a still-made bed. He turned and saw the light spilling out into the hallway from his office. Odd. Will rarely went in that room.

As he stepped up to the open door, he caught the scent of his husband. It held the same basic notes as always, but tonight, it was saturated with fear. Peering around the corner, Hannibal saw Will Graham kneeling by his desk, breathing heavily and choked with sobs, his long fingers curled around a scalpel.

Fascinated, Hannibal watched for a moment. The sounds of Will’s cries were disconcerting, but Hannibal thought that perhaps the professor needed to suffer this moment all on his own. There would be time, later, to comfort him.

Then Will raised the blade to his flinching throat and slit himself open.

The bottle of red wine shattered on their hardwood floor as Hannibal moved more quickly than he imagined possible. In the seconds after the scalpel slipped from bloody fingers, Will was in his arms, looking up at him. “No,” he said, fiercely calm, as if he could command the situation. “No, Will.” He placed his hand steadily over Will’s throat to stop the flow of blood, as he had done years ago for Abigail Hobbs. The spray pattern on Will’s face was too familiar. His eyes, begging for an end to this spluttering, burning pain, were too familiar.

It was familiar enough for the motive to be obvious. “You forgave me,” Hannibal said, louder than necessary for Will to hear. “You forgave me, Will.”

“Stop,” Will managed, feeling his own blood spout through Hannibal’s fingers at the effort.

Hannibal kissed his forehead and held him closer. “Be still. Stay with me.”

~

In the morning, Will’s bandaged throat stung like mad. “Thirsty,” he mumbled as he woke to bright lights and the blurry image of Hannibal watching over him.

Hannibal offered him the water, keeping a hand under his chin to catch anything he couldn’t swallow. “I almost lost you,” he said, leaning in and kissing Will’s temple.

“I had to know,” Will rasped, hoping his partner would understand.  
“You wanted to know how it felt to have your throat cut.” Hannibal cradled his lover’s face in one hand. “Abigail’s suffering still leaves you clawing the sheets in the night.”

His jaw stiffened. “It was like drowning.”

“Tell me, Will, do you wish you’d taken Mason up on his offer to kill me?”

Will’s eyes were wet. “Yes.”

Hannibal’s features softened for once, a few locks of hair loose from their usual place. He lifted his chin and pulled gently at the loops of his tie.

“What are you doing?” Will asked, unable to hide the tremor in his voice.

Setting the tie aside, Hannibal unbuttoned his shirt enough to expose just an inch of dark hair on his chest. “I can bring you a sterile scalpel, or the gutting knife you use to prepare fish, if you prefer.”

“Hannibal,” Will started. He was afraid to look down from the maroon eyes.

Hannibal licked his bottom lip to maintain control of his emotions. “Did you imagine how I might feel, Will, coming home to find you dead or dying?”

“I imagined you’d feel how I felt when my hand slipped from Abigail’s throat.”

He looked away for a moment. “You wanted to surprise me.”

“I wanted the teacup to come together again.”

Hannibal blinked, his face downcast. “Are you going to cut my throat, Will?”

Will swallowed, feeling the bandage pull against his stiches. “Not today.”


	2. To Your Tastes

“I have a gift for you, Will.” Hannibal set his wine glass down atop the side table in their lodge. He looked up expectantly.

“Do you?” Will asked. His skin bristled lightly with anticipation. Hannibal’s gifts were often sexual in nature, sometimes violently so.

“If you’ll excuse me a moment, I’ll get it for you.”

Will watched silently as his psychiatrist disappeared into their bedroom. He walked more stiffly than his usual elegant gait, affected by the scores in his back that the cliff had left, and the wound in his side from Dolorhyde’s gun. When Hannibal returned, he was holding a three-piece suit, dark blue, with a black waistcoat and a white undershirt. He held it up in the lusty lighting.

“I thought your wardrobe needed a bit of an upgrade.” The hint of a self-satisfied grin melted into his voice.

The professor sipped on his wine. “Handsome,” he said, “And perfectly to your tastes. I doubt I’d do it justice.”

Hannibal approached him and draped the suit over Will’s arm. “You forget you are also perfectly to my tastes.”

Will’s stomach burned where the hook knife had gutted him. “I haven’t forgotten.”

“I would be flattered if you wore this tonight, Will. I have plans for us.”

Setting his wine down, Will gathered the suit in his arms and offered a crooked smile. “My pleasure, doctor.”

~

Will emerged from his room, fully clad in Hannibal’s gift. It was made for his body. Not an inch hung awkwardly or pulled uncomfortably. The fabrics were soft and hardly chafed his wounds. “This is beautiful,” he said, “Thank you.”

“It fits you urbanely.” Hannibal bit the inside of his lip. Though subtle, it did not go unnoticed by Will Graham.

“I can only assume you measured me in my sleep.”

The doctor smiled. “Naturally.”

Will’s hand played idly with his unbuttoned collar. “You forgot the tie.”

Hannibal casually reached for the desk drawer and pulled it open. He removed a silk blue tie from within, perfectly pressed and gleaming. “There are certain pleasures I cannot deny myself. May I?”

He nodded and swallowed, the careful unraveling of domination becoming clearer. He could feel his body enveloped by the perfect suit as Hannibal’s hands tightened the silk about his throat. It might as well have been a choke collar.

The heat of Hannibal Lecter raised bumps in his flesh. He smelled of smoked meat and wine. A whispering breath touched just beneath his earlobe before the lips made contact, drawing a tantalizing, wet kiss over this spot, while a sure hand held Will’s chin and the other pressing gently over his collar bone.

When Hannibal moved away, Will felt debauched. “I’m never going to get away from you, am I?”

He cocked his head slightly. “Would you like to?”

Will set his jaw, despising the answer. “Not particularly.”

“Will, there’s something I would like you to do.”

“More games, Dr. Lecter?” His voice curled with bitter delight.

Hannibal reached back into the desk drawer and pulled out a length of rope.

Will’s cock immediately twitched, and he ached in all of his scars. “Hannibal …”

“This isn’t for you, dear Will,” he reassured. “What I want is for you to explore my body. Strip me, tie me, take your time.”

Will stepped forward curiously. “Am I not yours to play with?”

A rare, genuine smile changed Hannibal’s face from demon to man in an instant. “You assume that bound I have no control. But I am part of you, clever boy. You remember the last time you had me at your mercy.”

Will looked at his hands. “Mason Verger would have fed me to his pigs. Freeing you assured my escape.”

“Is it quite that simple?” Hannibal asked. “Carlos’ knife to my neck, but you choose to cut me free.”

“Nothing about this is simple,” Will said slowly.

The doctor pressed the rope into his patient’s hands. “This can be. If you let it.”

His fingers stroked the silk tie. “You would have me touch you in this?”

“I have fantasies of my own.”

“And not all of them involve eating my tongue?” Will asked, cheekily.

Hannibal grinned like a child with a stolen chocolate bar. “Not all.”

“What are the rules?”

 _Good boy_ , the doctor thought. “You may touch and tease however you like above the belt. Below the belt, no more than two fingers at a time, no penetration, and no use of your mouth.”

“And what is my goal, Dr. Lecter?”

“A single moan. Open-mouthed. If you manage that in ten minutes, you may take me, tied, however you wish.”

Will smiled, fingering the rope. “I hear you were silent when they branded you at Muskrat Farm.”

“Indeed I was.”

“And you were silent when The Great Red Dragon got a bullet in you.”

“As I recall, you were silent then, too.”

Will ignored the subtle dig at his disloyalty. “And when I sent someone to cut your wrists and hang you, you only called out to manipulate Jack and Alana.”

“Yes.”

“So then,” Will began, “Only a fool would presume you would moan for him.”

Hannibal adjusted his cufflinks. “You are no fool.”

“On the contrary. I am your favorite fool. Remove your jacket, doctor.”

Obediently, Hannibal slipped his dark plaid suit jacket from his shoulders and folded it carefully before placing it on the desk.

“Shirt, vest, and tie,” Will commanded.

Each piece of clothing slipped from the psychiatrist’s skin and was deposited neatly atop the desk. With his chest bared, Will saw the constellation of his scars and the rise and fall of his taut belly with each breath.

“Your trousers next.”

Hannibal stepped out of his shoes, unzipped, and pushed the pants down his strong legs, revealing black boxer briefs swollen with his cock.

“Shall I?” he asked, gesturing to his undergarments.

Will shook his head slowly, never blinking. “There are certain pleasures I cannot deny myself,” he parroted.

~

Hannibal stared lustily at Will, tied hand and foot to their bed, spread and ready for whatever the professor had in mind.

Will glanced at the clock. “10:44 PM.”

“Are you certain?” Hannibal mocked, straining to look at his love.

“Hush,” Will said forcefully, “One more word and you lose.”

Hannibal closed his eyes and mouth and waited calmly.

One more glance. “10:45. I’ll get a sound out of you yet, Dr. Lecter.”

He sat quietly on the edge of the bed and draped himself over the older man. The silk of his suit rubbed against a scarred and quivering stomach, but he couldn’t tell if it was Hannibal’s or his own. Leaning forward, he placed his hand around Hannibal’s broad throat and his mouth over a waiting nipple. He squeezed and sucked.

Hannibal swallowed, adjusting himself as the pressure on his windpipe made composure difficult. He stirred between his legs, warming for Will’s lips. This was clever of his love. With shallow breath, it was difficult to keep pleasure at the back of his mind rather than at the forefront of his flesh.

Will moved down, so seemingly careless in his kisses, but Hannibal didn’t trust the passion. Each unexpected suck, each too-warm brush of tongue, each nuzzle, each graze of teeth was an expert distraction. A plea for him to melt. Will laved at the dimples of his lover’s hips, releasing his throat for a moment. Obedient to the rules, he ran two careful fingers over the underside of Hannibal’s thickening cock.

“Ding, dong, the Dragon’s not dead,” he said approvingly.

The psychiatrist bit his lip and forced himself not to laugh at the absurdity of it all, but Will continued his stroke, watching Hannibal’s body tighten up with the effort. He was unraveling.

“Mmm, how often do you imagine this? My mouth trailing along your body. My hands playing. How many times have you touched yourself to the idea—” Will moved to suckle lewdly at the base of Hannibal’s throat.

 _Will_ , Hannibal thought, tilting his head back for the invading mouth, _Not even you could loosen my tongue._

“And in these fantasies,” Will continued, “Do you win? Do you tie me in your place, fevered and undone, as you always leave me?”

Hannibal grunted, but his mouth stayed closed.

“Or do you delight in my unlikely victory,” Will mused. He reached into the inside pocket of his new suit, curious. His fingers curled around the flat handle of a small blade.

The chill of sharp metal against Hannibal’s throat made him shiver, and his eyes opened just enough for their deep maroon to reflect Will’s sneer.

His steady hand poised to cut, Will leaned down to nibble on the sensitive edge of Hannibal’s ear. “ _You were curious what would happen. Wind him up and watch him go. Apparently, Dr. Lecter, this is how I go._ ”

He slit, shallow and quick, beneath the doctor’s Adam’s apple, and Hannibal parted his lips for a soft, breathless moan.

A bit of blood spilled unevenly from the cut, and Will kissed the wound gently, laying the knife to the side. He glanced at the clock. “10:54.”

“Are you certain,” Hannibal teased, swallowing, his eyes lidded.

“Hush.” Will pressed their mouths together, encouraging his love to taste his own blood.

“Your victory,” Hannibal whispered huskily when Will withdrew, “Is my design.”


	3. Which, As They Kiss, Consume

Will Graham was a simple man when it came to his wardrobe, but he wouldn’t be caught dead in Florence riding on the back of a motorcycle in tweed.

The sales woman at the store had bright, topaz eyes, which he caught looking him over in the mirror.

“Attraente,” she said, smoothly, like her being was made entirely out of white wine. She reminded him too much of Bedelia, and her eyes lingered a bit too long for a social gaze.

“Thank you,” he said, too embarrassed of his woeful Italian accent to attempt even a simple “Grazie.” But she was right, the jacket that lined his shoulders was handsome and clean. It framed his slight torso well, and the leather was soft and heavy. “It’s … not something I’m used to,” he tried, mostly speaking to himself.

“È … per a lover, yes?”

Will smiled slightly and looked down to hide his blush from the mirror. “Yes.”

She grinned, and Bedelia was gone from her face. “Ah, piacerà! She will love it!”

He smirked, but his chest was warm with thoughts of Hannibal. “He.”

Understanding filled her face. “Certo. He è ben vestito, yes? Dressed well?”

Will laughed quietly. “Yes.”

She smoothed the lining on the back of his jacket approvingly. “Molto bello. He will like.”

~

When the door of their apartment clicked open, Hannibal slowed the stroke of his pencil. He closed his eyes, taking in two familiar scents: Will, his aftershave layered on a soft musk and the smell of dogs and trees, and … Italian leather.

He turned at his desk to see Will Graham standing in the doorway, his hair windswept and his cheeks crisp with the fall chill. Over his blue button-up, he wore a black leather jacket, tailor-made for his body, from his collar to his wrists. The detailing was intricate, unique. It was undeniably flattering on Will, sharpening his jet black curls and the angles of his face and throat. And that scent … Hannibal swallowed despite himself.

“Is it too much?” Will asked, touching the sleeves of his new jacket self-consciously.

“It becomes you,” Hannibal said, standing from his desk and meeting his partner at the door. “Let me see. Turn.”

Will obeyed, revolving in place and lifting his arms up at his sides, suddenly confident and eager to show off.

Hannibal touched along the collar, at the elbows, and down the zipper, until he was in position to slip his hands around Will’s waist and pull him close. “Where has this impeccable taste been hiding?”

Will’s eyes glinted, defiant and delighted. “On the edge of your tongue.” He leaned unabashedly against Hannibal’s chest and laced his finger’s through the Ripper’s hair.

The overwhelming combination of luxury and austere scents filled Hannibal’s nose, and he felt a twinge of lust coil in his throat. His favorite things were nestled in his arms, tangible and … consumable.

He lifted Will’s chin and lowered his mouth to meet the parted lips. Hungry, and nearly breathless, Hannibal Lecter felt nothing but peace.


	4. Blushed

“Will, I’d like to run you a bath, if that’s alright.”

Will Graham looked up from his book, his lean body stretched out over a chaise lounge, fully relaxed. “A bath?” He almost laughed.

Hannibal began to roll up the sleeves of his maroon shirt, taking care not to leave any creases. “I often drew baths for Bedelia in the months we were in Florence. I washed her hair. When I was wounded, she bathed me, as well. Blood or no blood, it became an intimate ritual. One I would like to continue with you.”

“Intimate,” Will said slowly, like the word tasted bitter on his tongue. “Naked, glowing Bedelia, blushed beneath the surface of the water. Poised, elegant Bedelia, soothing your pain.”

Hannibal smiled entirely with his eyes. “Do I detect a hint of jealousy, Will?”

Will looked down with that malicious half-grin Hannibal loved so much. “You detect an ache, Dr. Lecter. That ache grows at the mention of a gorgeous woman soaking under your gaze.”

The Ripper cocked his head a millimeter. “Do you ache for me?”

He met Hannibal’s eyes with a faltering glance. “Intimately.” The bitterness in that word had a different motive now.

“Let me draw a bath. I want you blushed beneath the water.”

Will closed his book. “I would like that.”

~

The water appeared dip-dyed in rose petals, it’s surface darkening in the gold tub. Will Graham lay against the warm metal, feeling the rose water sway gently against his chest. Utterly exposed, it was difficult not to redden with the bath.

Hannibal’s sure hands worked his curls into a crown of slick bubbles. “You are as handsome here beneath me as she was lovely.”

Eyes closed, Will tried not to think of Bedelia Du Moreir. “I’m here with you now,” he said quietly.

Hannibal’s hand, still wet and soaped from the shampoo, slipped down to Will’s bare throat. He curled his fingers over warm, inviting skin, his pressure light but firm. “And you are mine.”

Though he would deny it to anyone but the man behind him, Will felt his ache melt from his body into Hannibal’s palm. In his mind, he repeated the words back to his lover. “You are mine.”


	5. All at Once

"Will, we need to talk about our past." Hannibal swiped a cloth over his knife and placed it in a drawer.

Will sat down at the kitchen island. "Are you going to regale me with stories of your youth, Il Mostro?" Will ask, sipping his wine.

Hannibal began wiping down the counter. "Our recent past."

"Well, Dr. Lecter, what's to tell? I spent three years with my family and our lifetime supply of dogs, and you got a crew cut and lived in a fish bowl."

"Let me make this plain for you, Will," Hannibal said, suddenly darker in every sense, "I cut our surrogate daughter's throat, sawed your friend and colleague into a jigsaw of bone and flesh, sent a psychopath after your wife and child, and attempted to open your skull at my table. It occurred to me that you might want to discuss the above incidents at length."

Will's face grew sickly and disturbed. "Discuss," he said, so low and forced it was almost a hiss. "I'm curious, Hannibal, what you think there is to discuss."

Hannibal's lips formed a thin line. "Dante's Inferno swears a betrayer shall meet his end in the mouth of Hell. Where shall I meet my end, Will?"

"Are you asking if I would label your sins betrayals, or your betrayals sins?"

"Would it comfort you to call me a sinner?"

Will rubbed his face. "You don't believe in sin, Dr. Lecter. Only discourtesy."

"I have been discourteous to you." He folded the towel neatly.

"I can't talk about Abigail. Or Beverley. Or Molly. My grief is not some novel you can thumb through for answers." He bowed his head. "I am raw with the memory of them. Scraped clean on the edges you left."

Hannibal couldn't help but notice how beautiful his love looked in that moment. "Your pain is a paradox, Will. I know I am the cause, I feel regret but not guilt, and yet, my throat aches with yours."

Will swallowed thickly, still looking down at his hands. "Why would you bring them up all at once?"

"When you look at me, there is a heaviness. I remind you of your clearest self, and of your strongest losses."

"You can't unburden me, Hannibal," Will said, wishing he had the strength to look up but afraid of finding cold, or perhaps worse, compassionate eyes. Instead, he opened his hand and laid it palm up on the island.

Hannibal gently took his fingers and leaned over the sink to kiss his knuckles.

Feeling those lips move softly and gingerly over his skin had Will blinking back tears. "I'm the one who belongs in the mouth of Hell."


	6. God, the Devil, and the Great Red Dragon

Will wanted so badly to rub his face, but his nervous wrists scraped the rough edges of rope behind his back. His voice shook. “No.”

Francis Dolarhyde crouched in front of his chair, wearing only slim boxer briefs. “Choose. One of them, Will Graham, or the Dragon will choose for you.”

Will looked beyond the shoulder of the Great Red Dragon at the two unconscious men sitting in chairs across from him. Jack Crawford was bleeding through his white dress shirt, leaning forward heavily. Hannibal Lecter was limp, his head tipped back and throat exposed above the knot of his tie. They looked vulnerable and absurd, like sleeping tigers too far gone to embody their own greatness. Will’s chest felt tight just watching them. Given the chance, he’d free them both.

“Let them leave here, and kill me.”

“Will Graham,” The Dragon said, low and guttural as he fisted a clump of Will’s hair, “I want you to suffer. Choose.”

Will couldn’t speak.

“This is a difficult choice?” he demanded. “You are the righteous Lamb.”

 _I’m just a man._ Will thought. _I don’t belong to either of them._

“What does that make you three?” Will sneered, “God, the Devil, and the Great Red Dragon?”

Dolarhyde leaned close and bit just the tip of Will’s lip, drawing blood. He licked at the fresh wound. “You taste like sacrifice.”

Will let himself bleed rather than giving the Dragon the satisfaction of licking the same spot. “I will not choose between them.”

The Dragon stood and turned toward Hannibal and Jack. The enormous tattoo flexing with his back seemed to swarm him as he walked. He took a handful of Hannibal’s hair. “I’d like to see myself in him,” he said, looking down at the older man’s expressionless face with a kind of gentle awe.

“Don’t,” Will said, well aware that Hannibal deserved what was coming to him. “Don’t.”

~

Will was sweating through the sheets again, feverish and shivering in his sleep.

Hannibal pressed his body to his husband’s back and pulled his arms tightly against Will’s chest, suppressing his nervous system. “It’s only a dream, Will,” he whispered.

~

The room was suddenly and inexplicably full of mirrors. Will watched the impossible kaleidoscope of the Dragon’s violent tattoo, the limp heads of two men he could not stand to lose, and his own bloody mouth. Reflection within reflection within reflection.

Dolarhyde smashed his elbow into a mirror to his right, shattering it. With blood running down his arm, he took up four pieces of the broken glass and began to arrange three of them on Hannibal’s face. Two for his eyes. One for his mouth. What little light there was in the room glinted in that makeshift mask.

Will knew exactly what the last piece of glass was for. He shook his head frantically, caught between the present and the past. Abigail’s scar cut violently across Hannibal’s pale throat as the Dragon poised the glass. He could feel the spray of blood on his face from that far-off fantasy of Muskrat Farm. Scar. Blood. Scar. Blood. Scar. “No,” Will begged.

~

“No, no, don’t—”

Hannibal pinched Will’s wrist and twisted the skin. “Wake up,” he commanded, pinching again, “Wake up, Will.”

~

A sharp twinge in his wrist accompanied the warmth of blood running into his palm and soaking the knots of the rope.

Dolarhyde dropped Hannibal’s head, letting the glass shift and scrape his face. His throat, however, remained untouched. “Choose.” He looked at Will fiercely.

Again, Will couldn’t speak. The tattoo came to life in the mirrors.

The Dragon slashed the glass across Jack’s chest, tearing through his shirt and leaving a wide, swelling gash.

“No!” Will yelled, pulling against the rope enough to draw blood from his other wrist.

~

“Will, wake up,” Hannibal implored, too loud for the late hour and the dark room. His chest was slick with their shared sweat.

~

“You will witness the glory of the Great Red Dragon,” Dolarhyde said, closing in on him, crimson glass shard gleaming in his fist.

Will watched, confused, as blood began to spill from the Dragon’s throat, caving in his trachea, as if he’d been bitten. Bronze wings expanded behind his back as he advanced.

~

Hannibal had infinite options available to him, but he chose the least violent of them. Leaning over, he kissed Will full on the mouth.

~

Francis Dolarhyde tasted of wine and white truffles.

~

Will opened his eyes and jerked away from the kiss so quickly that he rolled off the bed and hit the floor.

Hannibal got up and went to kneel by his side. “You had a nightmare, Will,” he said. He reached out to rub his husbands back.

Catching his breath, Will glanced sideways at Hannibal Lecter, alive and conscious. He fought the urge to call Jack Crawford immediately. “Ding-dong, the Dragon’s dead,” he mumbled, drowsy and shaking.

Hannibal swallowed. “Did you choose this time?”

“No,” Will said. He paused, and then asked, “Do I taste like sacrifice?”

“Not anymore.”


End file.
